A Mother's Wish: Wanted: Perfect Partner / Father's Day. Debbie Macomber

house. Her jaw had nearly hit the carpet when he put his arms around Meg’s waist and announced that he was an ex-con. He wouldn’t forget the look in Meg’s eyes, either.

      Steve laughed outright.

      “Something funny?” Gary Wilcox asked.

      Steve glared at his foreman. “Not a thing. Now get back to work.”

      At six o’clock, Steve pulled into the parking space in the alley behind Meg’s bookstore. He didn’t like the idea of sneaking around and going to her back door, but that was what Meg wanted and far be it from him to argue. He’d be well rid of the woman—at least that was what he kept trying to tell himself.

      He knocked and waited a few minutes, growing impatient.

      The door opened and a woman in black mesh nylons and the shortest miniskirt he’d seen in years stood in front of him. She vaguely resembled Tina Turner. She wore tons of makeup and she’d certainly had her hair done at the same salon as Tina.

      “I’m here for Meg Remington,” he said, annoyed that Meg had made such a fuss about his coming to the back door and then sent someone else to answer it.

      “Steve,” Meg whispered, “it’s me.”

      “What the hell?” He jerked his head back and examined her more thoroughly. “We’re meeting my sister,” he reminded her stiffly, “not going to some costume party.”

      “I took my cue from you,” she said. “Good grief! You arrived at my door looking like a Hell’s Angel—what did you expect me to do?”

      Steve rubbed his face. Darned if he knew anymore. All he wanted was to get this over with. “Fine. Let’s get out of here.”

      “Just a minute. I need to change shoes.”

      She slipped out of a perfectly fine pair of flats and into spiky high heels that added a good five inches to her height. Steve wondered how she’d manage to walk in those things. She might as well have been on stilts.

      He led her around to his car and opened the door. He noticed that she sighed with what sounded like relief once she was inside the car.

      “I didn’t know what I was going to do if you brought that motorcycle again.” She tugged down her miniskirt self-consciously.

      “For the record, I don’t often take it out.”

      She looked relieved, but why it should matter to her one way or the other, he had no idea.

      “Just remember,” he said, feeling obliged to caution her. “Nancy’s a few years older than Lindsey. She won’t be as easily fooled.”

      “I’ll be careful about overkill,” she mumbled, “unlike certain people I know.”

      The drive took an eternity, and it wasn’t due to heavy traffic, either. In fact, when Steve looked at his watch he was surprised at what good time they’d made. What made the drive so troublesome—he hated to admit this—was Meg’s legs. She’d crossed them, exposing plenty of smooth, shapely thigh. Her high heels dangled from the ends of her toes.

      Steve appreciated women as a whole—some more than others, of course. He didn’t focus on body parts. But it was torture to sit with Meg in the close confines of his car and keep his eyes off her legs. The woman looked incredible. If only she’d keep her mouth shut!

      Nancy was standing on the porch when Steve pulled into the driveway.

      “This is where your sister lives?” Meg asked.

      “It’s my home,” Steve answered, certain she was about to find something wrong with it.

      “Your home?” She sounded impressed. “It’s very nice.”

      “Thanks.” He turned off the engine. “Nancy’s quite a bit younger than I am—a surprise for my mom and dad. She attends college at the University of Washington nine months out of the year. Our parents retired to Montana a couple of years back.”

      “I see. Does Nancy live with you?”

      “Not on your life,” he said, climbing out of the car. “She’s in residence during the school year. She got a job here this summer and I agreed to let her stay with me a few months. A mistake I don’t plan to repeat anytime soon.”

      Steve was watching for his sister’s reaction when he helped Meg out of the car. To her credit, the nineteen-year-old didn’t reveal much, but Steve knew her well enough to realize she was shocked by Meg’s appearance.

      “You must be Nancy,” Meg said in a low, sultry voice.

      “And you must be Meg,” Nancy said, coming down the steps to greet her. “I’ve been dying to meet you.”

      “I hope I’m not a disappointment.” This was said in a soft, cooing tone, as if she couldn’t have tolerated disillusioning Steve’s little sister. She clasped Steve’s arm and he noticed for the first time that her nails—now two inches long—were painted a brilliant fire engine red.

      Nancy held open the door and smiled in welcome. “Please, come inside.”

      Meg’s high heels clattered against the tile entryway. Steve looked around, pleased to note that his sister had cleaned up the house a bit.

      “Oh, Stevie,” Meg whined, “you never told me what a beautiful home you have.” She trailed one finger along the underside of his jaw. “But then, we haven’t had time to discuss much of anything, have we?”

      “Make yourself comfortable,” Steve said and watched as Meg chose to sit on the sofa. She sat, crossing her legs with great ceremony. Then she patted the empty space beside her, silently requesting Steve to join her there. He glanced longingly at his favorite chair, but moved across the room and sat down next to Meg.

      The minute he was comfortable, Meg placed her hand possessively on his knee and flexed her nails into his thigh. Inch by provocative inch she raked her nails up his leg until it was all Steve could do not to pop straight off the sofa. He caught her hand and stopped her from reaching what seemed to be her ultimate destination.

      Her expression was mildly repentant when she looked at him, but Steve knew her well enough to know the action had been deliberate.

      “I thought you might be hungry before Steve takes you to dinner, so I made a few hors d’oeuvres,” Nancy said and excused herself.

      “What are you doing?” Steve whispered the minute his sister was out of the room.

      “Doing? What do you mean?” She had wide-eyed innocence down to an art.

      “Never mind,” he muttered as Nancy returned from the kitchen carrying a small silver platter.

      “Those look wonderful,” Meg said sweetly when his sister put the tray on the coffee table in front of them. “But I couldn’t eat a thing.”

      To the best of his knowledge it was the first time his sister had cooked from the moment she’d moved in with him, and he wasn’t about to let it go to waste. He chose a tiny wiener wrapped in some kind of crispy dough and tossed it in his mouth.

      “You shouldn’t have gone to all this trouble,” Meg told his sister.

      Nancy sat across the room from them, apparently at a complete loss for words.

      “I suspect you’re wondering about all these letters and e-mails I wrote,” Meg said, getting the conversation going. “I hope you aren’t unhappy with me.”

      “No, no, not at all,” Nancy said, rushing the words together.

      “It’s just that I’ve come to know what people really want from me by the things they say.” She turned, and with the tip of her index finger wiped a crumb from the corner of his mouth. Her tongue moistened her lips and Steve’s insides turned to mush.

      “I learned a long time ago what men want from a woman,”